


and in your hand a skeleton key

by faerielissa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Fluff, M/M, Photographer Derek, Summer, Writer Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7638244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerielissa/pseuds/faerielissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How was it that, of everyone from home, besides his dad of course, he missed Derek the most? </p>
<p>“Ass. Fine, so you’re not biting your neighbors. Still, I’ll believe the place is yours when I see it for myself. Can’t say I ever thought you’d end up in the back end of Maine, though.” If he’d had to guess, he might have pegged Derek for ending up on some mountain, maybe, going to some little town once a month for provisions and living off mountain goats or deer or whatever kind of game animals lived up in the mountains. But a tiny fishing village in Maine? Stiles had looked it up once – Derek couldn’t have gotten much further away from Beacon Hills unless he’d actually left the country. Stiles couldn’t exactly blame him. If it weren’t for his dad, he’d probably never set foot in the place again.</p>
<p>Derek laughed – actually laughed, not just snickered or smirked – and Stiles’ heart warmed at the happiness so clearly written on his face. “Me either. But this place…it just feels right. When can you come?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	and in your hand a skeleton key

“No, it’s not a wolf den. And it’s not completely in the middle of nowhere. I’ve showed you a million pictures.”

Stiles wagged his finger at the screen, doing his best to balance his notes on one knee, a pen in one hand and a forkful of microwave lasagna in the other. Skyping with Derek while studying for his history final – and trying to eat dinner - might not have been the best idea, but hey, he was the king of multitasking. “And how do I know that’s not just your neighbor’s house, sourwolf? Have you been biting people again and brainwashing them to your sourwolfy ways?”

“I’ll bite _you_ ,” Derek threatened, grumbling, and Stiles grinned his best shit-eating grin at the screen. “I’m not even an alpha, idiot.”

“Prove it,” Stiles challenged him, scribbling one last reminder to himself on his notes, swapping his pen for a highlighter and yanking off the cap with his teeth, spitting it onto his desk. When he glanced up, Derek’s eyes were glowing crystal blue at him, fangs bared in a wide smirk. His heartbeat fucking _fluttered_ at the sight. Thank god Derek’s werewolf senses couldn’t pick that up over a Skype call.

How was it that, of everyone from home, besides his dad of course, he missed Derek the most? He hadn’t talked to Lydia beyond hurried texts and snapchats in more than a month, hadn’t seen Scott in more than four months, hadn’t had time to answer the e-mails from Kira and Danny and Mason sitting in his inbox, but he talked to Derek at least twice a week, and it only made him miss Derek more.

“Ass. Fine, so you’re not biting your neighbors. Still, I’ll believe the place is yours when I see it for myself. Can’t say I ever thought you’d end up in the back end of Maine, though.” If he’d had to guess, he might have pegged Derek for ending up on some mountain, maybe, going to some little town once a month for provisions and living off mountain goats or deer or whatever kind of game animals lived up in the mountains. But a tiny fishing village in Maine? Stiles had looked it up once – Derek couldn’t have gotten much further away from Beacon Hills unless he’d actually left the country. Stiles couldn’t exactly blame him. If it weren’t for his dad, he’d probably never set foot in the place again.

Derek laughed – actually laughed, not just snickered or smirked – and Stiles’ heart warmed at the happiness so clearly written on his face. “Me either. But this place…it just feels right. When can you come?”

“After the wedding? Dad said I can stay at home until the house sells, but after that, I’ve got to find a place.”

“He’s moving in with Melissa?”

“Yeah. We had a long, gross emotional talk about it last time I was home, he wanted to make sure I was okay with it.” Stiles had needed a little bit to wrap his head around it – he’d grown up in that house, and all of his best memories of his mom were in that house, but so were a lot of his worst memories, and he knew that both he and his dad would be better off not living there ever again. “But hey, you’re coming to the wedding, right? And graduation?”

“Wouldn’t miss them for the world,” Derek assured him. “I’ve got my plane tickets and hotel reservations already.”

“You know you could stay with one of us, dude,” Stiles pointed out, for what was probably the twentieth time.

Derek shook his head. “It’s fine. You and your dad are going to be busy with wedding plans, so are Scott and Melissa, and as much as Lydia and I have learned how to get along…” Derek trailed off, and Stiles nodded. Derek and Lydia butted heads as often as not, and Derek seemed to steer clear of conflict whenever he could these days. “Come on, now, e-mail me those notes so I can quiz you. I know your final’s in three days and if I don’t help you, you’ll stay up all night cramming.” He gave the little tray of lasagna Stiles had scarfed his best judge-y eyebrows. “I might not be able to make sure you eat right, but I can at least help you study.”

Stiles let out a heavy, relieved sigh. Derek was the best study partner he could ask for, especially when it came to history. “You’re the best, dude. If I ace this final I’m buying you a whole case of whatever fancy wine you’re into these days.”

“I’ll be holding you to that.” Derek promised, laughing.

* * * * *

“Morning,” Derek greeted him, holding out a steaming hot mug of coffee. Stiles grunted and took the mug, leaning heavily against the kitchen island, all but sticking his nose in it. Derek snickered, but Stiles paid him absolutely no mind, inhaling the scent of the coffee, letting that and the steam begin to lure him out of his tired haze. 

“Time is it?” he asked after a long moment, yawning hugely.

“Almost two.”

Stiles squinted one eye mostly open, peering at Derek over the mug. “In the morning?”

Derek smiled and shook his head. “Afternoon. You passed out almost as soon as we got in.”

Stiles grunted again, taking a gulp of the coffee. It practically seared his throat, but the hit of caffeine made it beyond worthwhile. Plus Derek was a coffee snob, because of course he was, so it was really good coffee. “Did I at least make it upstairs?” he asked, taking another, more cautious sip.

“Not really. I hauled you up, dumped you into bed.” Derek nodded to his bare legs. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your jeans, so…”

“Thanks, dude.” A handful of years ago, the idea of Derek Hale taking off Stiles’ clothes would have sent him into a frenzy, equal parts mortification and fantasizing. Not that it still didn’t – Stiles wasn’t the skinny beanpole he’d been when they’d first met, but his muscle was never, ever, ever going to stand up to Derek’s. And well, fantasies about Derek - he mostly tried to keep a lid on those.

“Want the grand tour after you get dressed?” Derek asked. “So you can make sure I didn’t just find the pictures on the internet and photoshop myself into them?”

Stiles sipped his coffee, considering. “Now that’s a possibility I hadn’t even thought of. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t completely sure you knew that Photoshop was even a thing, never mind how to use it.”

“Look up Downeast Photography,” Derek suggested, sliding Stiles’ phone across the island. “I’m going to go take a shower, I just got back from a run a few minutes ago. Help yourself to whatever in the fridge. The second bathroom is down here if you want a shower, too, there’s towels on the shelf.”

Stiles blinked once, then twice, staring at Derek’s broad back as he jogged up the stairs. Had Derek really just had the last word on him? Whatever, he was still half asleep. Still… Stiles unlocked his phone and climbed up on one of the stools pulled up to the island. A quick Google later, he was presented with a beautifully designed website, complete with a sketched logo that, when he zoomed in, was clearly signed ‘C. Hale’. The color scheme was all deep forest greens and pale grays, obviously chosen to highlight the pictures of trees and overcast skies and a winding, lazy river.

Stiles looked up, twisting around on his stool to peer out the wall of windows at the back of the house – windows that overlooked a winding, lazy river. The photo might not have been taken from the back deck he could also see from the windows, but probably nearby. Stiles frowned and swiveled back, swiping his way to the about page on the website, only to be faced with a – fucking breathtaking – picture of Derek. He didn’t seem to be looking at the camera, but past it instead, laughing at something someone had said to him, dimples peeking through his thick facial hair. Beneath the photo was a quick bio, mentioning that Derek had grown up in California and lived all over the country before settling in Maine, that he’d been interested in photography since he was ten and had fixed a relative’s old Polaroid.

“Infuriating, fascinating _bastard_ ,” Stiles muttered. How had he known Derek for more than six years and not known that he was interested in photography, and apparently fucking brilliant at it? Stiles knew pretty much zero about photography, could snap a couple decent Instagram shots if he was lucky, but even he could tell that Derek really knew what he was doing. His phone buzzed in his hand, startling him enough that he nearly sent the coffee mug flying.

‘ _Ready to concede?_ ’

Stiles scowled, jabbing the notification. Stupid werewolves. Stupid werewolf senses. ‘ _You might have won this round, but I’ll get you yet, sourwolf, watch me_.’

A reply popped up five seconds later. ‘ _Looking forward to it. ;)_ ’ Stiles stared at it, his jaw dropped slightly. Derek used emoticons? Derek. Emoticons. The two words barely belonged in the same sentence. And not just emoticons, no, no, Derek Hale had just sent him a goddamn _winky face_. How was that even real? Had the world turned over on its axis while Stiles was sleeping, was this official bizzarro day?

Stiles nearly pushed off the stool to go confront Derek - maybe he’d gotten possessed by a laid-back hippie forest spirit? But then the shower went on overhead and he stilled, swiping his thumb across his phone to look at that photo of Derek again. Laughing, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world, looking _happy_. It wasn’t so hard to picture that Derek using winky-face emoticons.

* * * * *

“Gotta say, dude, this place is pretty amazing,” Stiles decided, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at the trees and sky from on the hammock rigged up between two of the massive trees near Derek’s house. Derek insisted the thing had come with the house, but Stiles didn’t buy it. Derek was nothing if not a closet hedonist, that was pretty clear after a few days in his company. Stiles certainly had no issues with that, or with realizing that his whole view of Derek had shifted. “I’d spend the whole summer here if I could.”

Derek lifted an eyebrow at him from his perch on a tree branch about fifteen feet off the ground, camera in hand. He looked so different than he had back in high school, his beard full and soft-looking, that impossible body of his slightly softer, a little less muscular - still solid as fuck, Stiles had figured that out the first night when he’d jokingly slugged Derek in the stomach, just not as gym-bunny cut as six years ago. The biggest change, though, were his eyes. Derek didn’t look at the world like he was expecting it to punch him in the face every day, like he had to fight to the death for even a little sliver of something for himself. “So stay.”

Stiles struggled to a half-sitting position, nearly tipping himself out of the wildly swaying hammock as he flailed. Derek burst out laughing, and Stiles flipped him off, just as soon as he managed to steady the hammock, with himself still in it. “Are you serious? You want me to stay with you all summer long?”

Derek shrugged, quiet while he shot a picture. Stiles was nearly vibrating out of his skin with questions, but he kept quiet...somehow. “I don’t see why not. You’re here anyway. You don’t have a place back in Beacon Hills, not really. You could go home, but it’d be easier for your dad to sell the house if you didn’t. And you don’t really want to go back, not without a definite idea of when you’re going to leave again.”

“How - how do you know all that?” Stiles asked, slowly. Derek gave him a steady, even look.

“Because that’s how I feel. Even now. I don’t mind going back for visits, to see the territory for a few days. But I couldn’t go back to stay.”

“You seem much more... I don’t know. Happier now, but that’s not all. More... centered? Like living there again might not bother you so much anymore.”

Derek looked up into the branches, his thumb pulling the strap on his camera tight. “I am. And maybe I could go back without it being an issue. Maybe I could be happy there, too. But I don’t know for sure.” He fell silent again, staring out at the river. Stiles didn’t say anything, just leaned back in the hammock, letting Derek go at his own pace. Part of him itched to press, to ask the million questions he would have asked back in high school, or even just two or three years ago but Derek opening up to him, letting him in, was far more important than his insatiable curiosity. “And, well...I don’t want to risk this.”

Derek’s voice was quiet, so quiet Stiles might not have heard him if he weren’t so tuned to Derek, if he hadn’t been waiting patiently for an answer. He grasped the sides of the hammock, pulling himself to sitting up so he could see Derek better, so he didn’t feel so much like he was going to tip over any second.

“I can understand that, dude. You worked hard to get here.” They both knew ‘here’ meant more than just a house on a nice big plot of forested land on a riverbank in Maine. Derek nodded and slid off the branch, landing effortlessly on his feet, camera still in hand. “Showoff,” Stiles muttered, without heat.

“Damn right,” Derek sassed back, dimples showing. Fucker. “What I’m saying is I know how you feel about Beacon Hills. And if you liked it here and wanted to stay for a while, I’d be okay with that. Whether you get a job or not. It’d be... nice to have pack close by again.”

“You want me here. This isn’t just a ‘my pack needs me so I’m going to step up’ thing?” Stiles was pretty sure he knew the answer to that, but he knew well enough that he had to be one hundred percent sure. Derek was nothing if not a bit of a martyr sometimes.

Derek approached the hammock, setting his camera down, big fingers curling around Stiles’ wrist. Stiles’ heart gave one quick, hard thump, then settled as Derek drew Stiles’ hand up to rest on his chest, just over his own heart. “Pay attention,” Derek murmured, and Stiles nodded. He could feel the steady, even beat of Derek’s heart, the rhythm reassuring and soothing. “I want you here, Stiles. For a week, two weeks, two months, as long as you want to stay.”

Through it all, Derek’s heartbeat stayed even, his smile fond, and Stiles grinned up at him. “Thanks. I wasn’t really looking forward to looking for a place, or a job, back in Beacon Hills.”

“Any ideas what you’re going to do with that shiny degree?”

Stiles shrugged. He’d majored in Criminology with the idea that maybe he’d move back to Beacon County, follow his dad into the sheriff’s department, work his way up. It had been his dream since he was a little kid, his dad even had a picture in his office of Stiles at six, on take your kids to work day, sitting at the desk with his dad’s badge pinned to his little hoodie, a water gun in a holster his mom had made for him. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to spend his life seeing all the worst things people could do to each other - he’d seen enough of that already, he thought. “Not sure, really. I mean...I have ideas, but...” Stiles sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“Wanna have a beer and talk about it?” Derek suggested. “Or just have a beer and I’ll throw some dinner together?”

Stiles hesitated for a long moment, thinking that over. “I... let me cook? I’m actually not half-bad in the kitchen. And I would like to talk about it.” It’d be nice to have something to do with his hands while he talked.

Derek nodded. “Whatever you want. I can’t get food poisoning, so...”

Stiles scoffed, realizing belatedly that his hand was still spread on Derek’s chest, splayed over ridiculously firm muscle. _Way to be obvious, Stiles_ , he chided himself, using that hand to shove at Derek’s chest instead. He refused to think about the fact that Derek’s fingers were still wrapped around his wrist, that if Derek had wanted him to move his hand, he could have nudged Stiles away at any time. “You’re going to eat that. Literally. Get out of my way.”

Derek snorted and pulled him out of the hammock, fingers trailing across the inside of Stiles’ wrist, and Stiles did his best to suppress the shudder that went through him. In Derek’s magazine-worthy kitchen, he pulled thick, organic steaks from the fridge while Derek sat on one of the island stools. “Fajitas sound good?”

“Sounds great.” Derek told him, fiddling with his phone, his camera set to one side, out of the way. Stiles’ heart thumped hard – he was sure Derek knew something was up, but he wasn’t going to push or prod, he was just going to wait for Stiles to talk. Derek looked up, giving him a small, encouraging smile. Derek knew him so well…better than anyone but his dad at this point, Stiles was pretty sure. Maybe he didn’t have the years and years of shared history with Derek that he did with other people, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Busying himself with mixing a marinade, Stiles kept his eyes on the spice canisters and bowl. “I don’t think I want to go into police work. Even though I got my degree and everything. I probably should, though, right? It’d be stupid to waste four years.”

Derek lifted a shoulder, glancing at Stiles. “You got an education. That’s never a waste. And it’s not like you only took criminology classes.”

Stiles considered that, carefully measuring out chili powder. He usually liked his fajitas spicy, but Derek didn’t tolerate spicy food well – it made him sneeze. And Stiles wasn’t exactly _above_ enjoying how adorably surprised Derek looked when he sneezed, but not when he wanted to prove to Derek that he actually _did_ know how to cook. “That’s a pretty good point, actually. But where am I going to get hired with a degree in criminology if not for law enforcement?”

“Do you have student loans?” Derek asked.

“Thank fuck for full scholarships and grants.” He still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to land as much aid as he had, but his dad had been insistent on Stiles not taking loans, and Stiles had been equally insistent on not asking his dad to figure out how to pay for four years of college. Luckily, between his grades and a few generous scholarships for the children of law enforcement, he hadn’t had to.

“That’s something, anyway. What do you really want to do, Stiles?”

Stiles gave the marinade a last stir, grabbing a thick cutting board to slice up the steaks. “I don’t know.”

“Lie,” Derek countered immediately. “You have something in mind, at least.”

“Fucking werewolves,” Stiles grumbled. “Did no one ever teach you it’s not polite to comment on heartbeats?”

Derek gave him a wide, shit-eating grin so similar to his own that Stiles nearly choked. Fucker, he was having way too much fun with this. “Yep. Don’t care.”

“You’re an asshole. I…it’s stupid, okay? I went to college for four years, majored in criminology and that means I should use it, right, even though I don’t have loans to pay or anything like that. It’s a good job, and fuck knows this country needs more decent cops. I’ve wanted to be a cop since I was four.”

“And you’re twenty-two now, Stiles. People change.” Derek went silent for a moment, until Stiles finished cutting the steaks up and dumped the strips into the marinade, then took his hands, braceleting Stiles’ wrists with his fingers. “Are you worried you’re going to let your dad down?”

Stiles slumped against the island. “Fuck,” he whispered, and Derek let go, letting Stiles lean on his elbows, head buried between his hands. “Of course I am. I mean, he’s always said I can do whatever I want, but he’s also been saying for years that I’d make a good cop. I can’t stand the idea of disappointing him.”

“You couldn’t, Stiles. He’s so proud of you for everything you’ve done and everything you are, that’s not going to change because you’ve decided you don’t want to be a cop. Is it that you want to get a degree in something else?”

Derek hadn’t said _if you decide_. He’d said decided. Like it was a foregone conclusion. Stiles looked up, meeting Derek’s gaze with narrowed eyes. “What makes you think I’ve already decided?”

“Stiles, I _know_ you. If you hadn’t already made your decision, you wouldn’t be talking about it. You’re not looking for someone to help you make up your mind, you’re looking for someone to tell you it’s okay to go through with it.”

Fuck, Derek was right. If Stiles had planned on going into the police force – any force, not just the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department – he’d have already started researching, deciding where he wanted to go, looking for a place to live, plotting out how best to lure the pack and his dad for visits.

“No matter what I want to do? I mean…would you think it was okay?”

“It’s your life, Stiles,” Derek started, but Stiles cut him off.

“And your opinion matters to me, too. You’re my best friend, dude, you have been for a long time.”

The soft, surprised look on Derek’s face made Stiles’ heart ache, and he promised himself that no matter what, he was going to make sure Derek knew just how much he was cared for, how important he was. “You’re mine, too,” Derek admitted, after a long moment, ducking his head, the tips of his ears flushed pink.

“I want to write a book,” Stiles blurted, and Derek blinked at him, obviously thrown by the quick shift. He recovered quickly, though, a wide, genuine smile curving his lips.

“Really? You’d be fantastic, I’d read your book for sure. Book or books?”

“Not just one. I have ideas for a whole series, actually. But…that’s what I want to do. Not be a cop. I actually started the first one a few months ago, when I was bored in a lecture. It’s probably about half done.”

“I’d love to read it when it’s done. Or whenever you want to show it to me.”

Stiles smiled, setting down the spice canister he’d been fiddling with, relief filling him. “That’d be awesome. I thought…well, I’ve learned a hell of a lot about the supernatural, so…there’s stories in all that, and I think I can tell them. And…I think I’m pretty good at it.”

“You could probably write at least ten books, with all the crap that’s gone on in Beacon Hills.” Derek grinned. “Might as well put all that research to good use.”

“Exactly!” Stiles exclaimed. “I mean, I know it’s not a guaranteed salary or anything, I’m probably going to have to get a job of some kind after this summer, but…I’m excited about it. Mostly. Nervous, too.”

Derek started to reach across the counter, then pulled his hand back, sliding off the stool and rounding the island instead, pulling Stiles into a hug. “I think you’ll make it work for you. You always do.”

Stiles grinned, tipping his head to the side so Derek could scent him, doing his best to suppress the shiver when Derek’s beard rasped against his skin, cramming his head with the absolute un-sexiest things he could think of so Derek wouldn’t sniff out so much as a hint of arousal. It was the only way Stiles could survive being hugged and scented by the guy he’d been head over heels for since high school. Derek paused for a second, his nose buried in the curve of Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles would swear that lips brushed against his skin. But then Derek was lifting his head, giving Stiles a last squeeze, and stepping away.

“Anything I can do to help with dinner?”

* * * * *

“Writing?” Derek plopped down beside him on the back deck steps, nudging his shoulder against Stiles’.

“Mmm, yeah. I finished a chapter and got a good start on another one,” Stiles answered, saving and closing his document, then immediately backing it up in three different places – he’d heard horror stories, and he had no intention of losing six months of work to an accident.

“That’s worth celebrating. Hey, how would you feel about going out for dinner tonight?” 

“I could be here for it. Are there even any restaurants here, though?”

Derek chuckled. “Not for a decent dinner. There’s a place I like a few towns over, it’s mostly seafood, though.”

“Lobster? Totally here for that,” Stiles agreed.

“Then it’s a date.” Derek froze as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and because they were sitting so close together, Stiles _felt_ it. He gaped down at his laptop for a second, his mind whirling.

Derek had said it was a date, then gotten nervous.

Derek had been the one to invite him to stay the whole summer, if he wanted to.

Derek had been making little, joking comments the last two weeks, almost but not quite flirting, like he didn’t know that Stiles was completely, pathetically head over heels crazy about him and had been for years.

Stiles didn’t even want to think about what his heartbeat was doing just then. Instead, he closed his laptop and set it on the deck, out of the way enough that neither of them could step on it. “Is it a date?” he asked, hesitant. “Or…” He cut off, nerves surging in his stomach. If he was misreading this, things might never be the same between him and Derek.

“Do you want it to be?” Derek was still holding himself stiffly – nervously? Stiles didn’t know, and, not for the first time, he wished his spark gave him a little bit of insight into people, the way the werewolf super-hearing and super-sniffer did. He’d give anything to have just a hint of what was going on in Derek’s head.

“I… I wouldn’t say no to a date. If you were offering one.” Stiles answered, after a long moment, tension humming between them. He honestly had no idea what Derek might say – they’d gotten closer and closer over the last few years, and sure, sometimes there’d been moments where he’d thought maybe, just maybe Derek was into him, but they’d pretty much always been fleeting, nothing he could pick out a pattern to. With anyone else in the world, Stiles might have seized those moments, might have spun them into a night or even a handful of nights of great sex, but this was _Derek_ , not anyone else, and a few nights of sex wasn’t worth anywhere near what their friendship was. But maybe those moments hadn’t been so fleeting – maybe, if he’d allowed himself to think about it, he would have seen the pattern. “Are you? If not, that’s totally okay and we can still go have dinner, that would be cool, I’d like to see more of the are—"

Stiles cut off abruptly, Derek’s hand covering his mouth. “I am. Offering. A date.” Derek’s ears were bright pink, his voice more hesitant than Stiles had ever heard it. He dropped his hand and Stiles shifted on the steps so he could meet Derek’s eyes, setting his hands on Derek’s knees, bared in his jogging shorts. They were the ugliest things Stiles had ever seen, a pair of pale gray sweat shorts that, honest to god, were probably older than Derek, but they did amazing things for his ass and thighs, not that either of those places needed any kind of help in Stiles’ expert opinion.

“Then it’s a date.”

Derek grinned, and Stiles grinned back, and then Derek leaned forward, cupping Stiles’ chin in one hand. Stiles’ heart went _crazy_ , but Derek didn’t seem bothered, taking his lips in a gentle, slow kiss, all warmth and sweetness. Stiles curled his own hands on Derek’s shirt, not trying to pull him closer, but not wanting to let Derek go, either. By the time Derek pulled back, Stiles’ lips were tingling, his face flushed. “We’ll leave around six?” Derek asked, and Stiles nodded, completely at a loss for words. “I’m going to go grab a shower.” 

“Sure you don’t want company?” Stiles blurted, before his filter could kick in. Derek’s eyes went wide, and Stiles slapped a hand over his mouth with a groan. “Oh my god, please forget I ever said that, I blame the heat…and also probably the outside, nerds like me just aren’t used to spending this kind of time in the great outdoors…”

“You spent just as much time in the preserve as the rest of the pack,” Derek retorted, but he was smiling, so that probably – maybe – meant that Stiles hadn’t completely offended him.

“Okay, okay, shut up, it was a thought!”

“Not that I’m opposed to you joining me in the shower sometime,” Derek told him, and Stiles’ eyes widened, images filling his head of Derek, naked and wet, skin gleaming with water, body hair soaked and dripping… he shook his head, hard, trying to clear his mind. 

“I…um… sometime. Yeah. Totally.” He sounded like an awkward seventeen year old virgin again, but who the fuck could blame him when Derek was sitting next to him talking about them showering together? Stiles would like to meet the person who could stay cool and composed for that, mostly so he could punch them in the face because what the fuck was wrong with them?

“But I think we should wait until after our first date.”

“We can wait as long as either of us needs to.” Stiles paused. Did he really want to put just how long he’d been thinking about this out there? He met Derek’s eyes – hopeful, hesitant, _happy_ – and decided that yes, yes he did. Derek deserved to know that this had the potential to be way more than a summer fling. “I’ve been kind of stupid over you for a long time, you know.”

“I thought…” Derek began. “Honestly, I guessed. I thought it was a sex thing. You didn’t used to know how to be subtle about it.”

Stiles let out a soft laugh. “At the beginning, it kind of was. I mean, I didn’t like you much, but you were objectively the hottest person I’d ever seen.”

“Barring Lydia Martin, of course,” Derek teased, and Stiles shook his head.

“No, not barring anyone. _The_ hottest person I’d ever seen. But you were kind of a dick, then. Not that you didn’t have reason to be.” It still made Stiles wince to think about. They’d all been so awful to Derek, had piled so much crap on his shoulders on top of the mountain of grief and responsibility he’d been carrying. “But after a while…it wasn’t a sex thing anymore. Or not just a sex thing. And then we were friends and that was just… more important.”

“And now?” Derek asked, his voice quiet.

“Now we’re going to go on a date and I’m going to try desperately not to act like a sixteen year old with a crush because I’m better than that now. And after that…well, I guess that depends on tonight, doesn’t it?”

Derek smiled, slow and soft. “I should probably tell you I’ve been kind of stupid over you for a long time, too. I… that’s why I invited you to come. I thought if we had time together, I’d be able to figure out if you wanted it too or if it was just me.”

“God, we’ve been such idiots…” Stiles breathed. “We could have gotten together _years_ ago.”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t think…I’ve needed the time I’ve spent here. I couldn’t have been what you needed years ago. There was too much I had to work through. Things are different now, though.”

“So, when you asked me to stay…”

“As long as you want. This summer. As many summers as you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Summer" theme of the Sterek Shelter Summer Spectacle, for Team Bubble Tea Emoji. The title is a lyric from the beautiful song Letting You In by Kris Allen.


End file.
